


An Evening Conversation

by clayrlibrarian



Series: Watch how we soar [2]
Category: Firefly, Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Awkwardness, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-30
Updated: 2013-10-30
Packaged: 2017-12-30 23:33:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1024707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clayrlibrarian/pseuds/clayrlibrarian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras had known he liked Feuilly. He just hadn't known he liked Feuilly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Evening Conversation

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read by the lovely [Jesse](colferseverett.tumblr.com) who is a wonderful person. Thanks also go to [JJ](majesticcarrot.tumblr.com) for actually being responsible for this thing's existence.
> 
> This thing doesn't make sense if you haven't read the first two "Assembling the crew" parts and will be relevant to part 3.

Feuilly and Enjolras had, in the last few weeks since Feuilly had taken him up on his offer and they’d finally left that damn spaceport and taken their first job, gotten into the habit of frequently spending the evenings together in the ship’s main lounge, sitting on a sofa and spending hours talking.

This way, Enjolras had discovered that Feuilly had been on the same side of the war as he himself, mechanic stationed on an Independence shipyard, cobbling together the corpses of old ships into something that could fly and shoot during the last days of the war while Enjolras had risen through the ranks and quickly gained a post in command and then fallen even faster.

He’d also found out that Feuilly had practically grown up on spaceships and shared his inability to stay planetside for too long. Enjolras was still ridiculously glad that Feuilly hadn’t judged him for having grown up on a rich core planet. A thought he’d called himself stupid for just as soon as he’d had it.

Right now, though, Feuilly was talking about Patria. He loved the ship almost as much as Enjolras did and it showed. In the way he moved his hands to illustrate how much faster he could make her with just a few tweaks here and there. The way his face lit up when he talked about tiny intricacies and details about her he was still discovering and even in the way he pronounced her name.

Feuilly was the only person other than him on this ship who actually liked it and used it with the reverence it deserved. It was harder to tell with Combeferre than it was with Eponine and Courfeyrac, who openly mocked his choice, but none of them appreciated it.

Or the ship the way it was supposed to be loved.

Feuilly did.

And Enjolras, in this moment, wanted this man in front of him.

It was a sudden realization, a wave crashing through his mind, making his thoughts about ship repairs come to a sudden halt.

He wanted this. Enjolras was not a person who liked listening to people and not interrupting them to make a point, but what Feuilly said was so right he didn’t think there was anything to argue with. He wanted to sit for hours and listen to this man, hear his story, see what he was passionate about and learn the tiny details.

He wanted to see this smile and all the other smiles he had, to hold his hand and kiss those lips, to wake up in the morning and have this face be the first thing he saw.

Enjolras really wanted, no needed, to bury his head in the next pillow (or Feuilly’s lap, a treacherous voice in the back of his brain whispered, perhaps he’d pet his hair) and scream. Almost as much as he wanted to bridge the distance between them and kiss Feuilly.

He was rooted in his spot on the sofa, the mechanic’s words not even registering anymore.

This was not supposed to happen.

At all.

This did not happen.

Ever.

Not to him.

He was so screwed.

How weird would it be to interrupt the object of his newfound affection in the middle of him rambling happily about a ship, not any ship, the ship they both loved more than anything else for the freedom it brought them, cigarrette behind his ear and relaxation written in his body language to get up, start pacing and curse himself, the existence of feelings, the entire Verse and the Alliance just for good measure?

(Or to do something completely different?)

It would be weird.

Very weird.

Definitely weird.

Enjolras needed…

He needed to talk to Courfeyrac. That was the solution.Courfeyrac would know what to do.

He always did.

Feuilly, who had noticed Enjolras’ mood seeming to shift from “relaxed evening” to “something happened there is a problem to solve don’t get in my way”, stopped talking.

"Everthing okay?" he asked and quietly went back to think over what he could’ve said to upset Enjolras who looked more than slightly terrifying when he was this still and tense.

"I…", Enjolras paused. Why did it always have to be Feuilly he did these things around? He was better than this, he knew that.

"I really need to talk to Courfeyrac. Sorry. I’ll get back to you. But this is really important."

He fled the room before Feuilly could mention how interrupting Courfeyrac and Eponine might not be the best idea or wonder why seeking out Combeferre’s advice didn’t even seem to cross his mind.

It took Enjolras a grand total of thirty seconds to realize that he did not want to interrupt his second and his pilot when they’d gone off to her room together, tell himself that he didn’t need Courfeyrac for everything, and walk back into the lounge. 

"Courfeyrac is with Eponine," he said, resigned. 

"I’m sure he can make time for you if it’s important." To Feuilly, whatever problem Enjolras had was more than slightly worrying from his reaction and definitely warranted attention. 

"What about Combeferre?" he then asked instead.

"This is a Courf-problem. Ferre would tell me the same and be unhappy that I interrupted him when he was trying to get listen in on Alliance communication."

Something, to Feuilly, clearly didn’t seem right. Enjolras almost never used his friends’ nicknames when talking about them.

"I thought we were just smugglers," to him, that had been what he’d been hired for. Smuggling and piracy. Not that it wouldn’t let himself be talked into other things, but a ship without a pilot wouldn’t get far and Eponine was not nearly as politically inclined as he was.

"Being informed never hurts."

"Okay," he’d been assuming for a while now that Combeferre really disliked the idea not knowing anything.

Silence followed. Deafening, awkward silence. Feuilly looked at Enjolras, still confused. Enjolras looked anywhere but Feuilly, fidgeted a bit, finally sat down and nervously started inspecting something someone had left on the table next to him. With them all starting to feel like home on the ship, it was starting to become impossible to tell who things belonged to, not that he cared right now. Unless it was Feuilly’s and he wanted it back.

No, there was something else to think about. How did this work?

Enjolras had fought, killed, sent brave, wonderful people to their death and laughed the enemy in the face. Usually, “reckless” was one of the first words Combeferre used to describe him, accompanied by a sigh filled with all the weariness being the person in charge of keeping him and Courfeyrac alive caused.

Right now, Enjolras was pretty sure he’d very much like to turn tail and flee. Weirding Feuilly out even more and having to explain that was a bit of a problem though. 

He took a deep breath.

"Want to go out with me?" he finally asked, having gathered the courage to actually look Feuilly in the face. 

Feuilly -

\- stopped. 

And looked at Enjolras. 

And smiled.

Enjolras really, really liked that smile. It was a wonderful smile. 

Hesistantly, Enjolras smiled back, still high strung. 

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes." Feuilly laughed. 

"Really?" Enjolras had freaked out about the idea of dating and Feuilly, wonderful, amazing, intelligent Feuilly just laughed and said yes.

"Really. Assuming I’ll have time off the next time we land."

Enjolras had been planning on getting them a job as soon as they touched the ground but, with Feuilly laughing like that and the idea of them spending time together, just the two of them, was enough to convince him that perhaps giving everyone some time away from each other was a good idea. 

"We will have that," Enjolras said, smiled at Feuilly and ignored the possibility that he was looking like a lunatic. 

"So," Feuilly said and interrupted Enjolras from his thoughts, stopping him from wondering what he was supposed to even do on a date.

"That was it?" he asked

"What?"

"Why you suddenly went all weird? Spacing out and acting like we had the alliance on our tail. Or bounty hunters. Or both. I was a bit worried by the time you stormed out of the room."

If it was possible for Enjolras to look sheepish, this was the moment it happened. 

"Seriously though, don’t ever go all "statue of a rebel leader" on me again if there’s nothing serious. I was wondering if you were going to throw me off ship or sell her."

"Sell her?" Enjolras spluttered, suddenly shaken out of his embarrassment.

"I would never."

This ship was his, never would he dare to sell her.

"Good. I wouldn’t be able to date a man who would. I have standards."

If, as they gradually went back to conversation, they sat a bit closer than before and if, when they left the lounge to go to their respective bedrooms, they held hands, if Feuilly pressed a tiny quick kiss goodnight to Enjolras’ lips when they parted ways, well that was between the two of them and Enjolras was completely capable of navigating his romantic life on his own. 

If Combeferre was slightly surprised and Courfeyrac just looked at him knowingly when he told them they’d all have some time to themselves before they’d look for a new job, well nobody doubted his decision.

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted on [tumblr](refrigeratorsrock.tumblr.com) where you are welcome to talk to me.


End file.
